


The Demon That Challenged A God

by Roadstergal



Series: Thor and the Demon [5]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M, Forgery, Gay Male Character, Gen, Hair, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Punishment, Slavery, Tragic Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: When a demon is his own worst enemy, even the noblest of companions will do him no good.  A concluding story in the saga of Thor and the demon.





	The Demon That Challenged A God

It would be a lie to say that most quests resolve with satisfaction, with the intended goal reached.  In truth, it is the rare quest that does not end in weary, fruitless defeat.

Yet those are not the stories we tell, the stories we wish to hear. And so the tale of the demon would not have begun to be told, had he not found his way to Asgard.

His quest was neither quick nor easy. The demon and the smith chased the clouds, seeking great storms full of thunder, questing for the rainbow bridge to Asgard. Yet time after time, storm after storm, they were thwarted; the rays of the sun would not play its colorful game with the rain, or the great bow would melt to nothing before they could reach it. Storm after storm, they were forced to camp, soaking wet, clinging to each other and shivering, defeated.

"Were my inner fire not extinguished," the demon lamented, as he often did, "we would be warm and dry."

"Cease with such lamentations, demon," cried the smith. "Were the rocks bottles of mead, we would be warm through, but they are not!"

The years had worn hard on them; the smith's face was lined and silver wound through his black hair, and although the demon did not age as mortals, he nonetheless felt the heaviness of the years as well. He and the smith clung to each other, cold and bickering, as if they were an aged couple that knew each others' minds too keenly.

It was then that a warrior emerged from the trees - a mighty man, tall and broad, his thighs thick and firm as trees, his shoulders blocking the low rays of evening sun. "Long have I tracked you," he cried. "I fell behind in the windy heights of Kjerag, and feared that I had lost you for good. Yet I heard tales and rumors, of a horned man-beast with wonderous daggers that could not be broken, and I pursued you anew."

"What do you want with us, fearless one?" the smith asked. "My companion is a mighty warrior and a master of seidr; though you have an army, it should give you pause to interfere with our quest." Even as wet and shivering as he was, the smith knew the importance of meeting adversity with a bold face.

"I am here not to interfere with your quest, but to aid it," protested the warrior. "Look, lo, do you not remember this that you made for me? Many times has it saved my life and limb, yet it has not so much as a scratch." He pulled his shield from his back, and the smith looked with amazement upon its bright perfection.

"You are the warrior from my old village," he cried.  "Beloved you were, there, and much desired by the fairest of the women. Why did you stray?"

"I have heard the tale that this spirit has told, and the oaths you swore to each other.  Your quest is most worthy, and my heart yearned to be part of it. Let me journey with thee."

"If you so desire," the demon told the warrior. "But alas, though we chase the storms, we cannot reach the bridge of rainbows to the halls of Valhalla."

"Come the bright yellow rays of the morning sun tomorrow," the warrior promised, "we will cross the rainbow bridge."

The warrior joined their camp, then, and they lay all three together under his shield, holding each other tightly for warmth.

As the ruddy morning sun peered over the tops of the trees, the warrior showed the truth of his promise. He held the great shield towards the sun, and its rays split into a perfect rainbow. "Come," he said with excitement, "let us cross to Asgard, land of the Aesir, of Thor, my great god of victory, and the hallowed halls of Valhalla."

It was a motley and disheveld group that walked the bright streets of Asgard by the afternoon, their weary feet trodding over the golden cobblestones, and the residents of Asgard - men and women alike of equal beauty - turned their heads curiously to watch.  The smith aged, if still strong, with silver in his hair and beard; the warrior, powerful and yet mournful; and the demon, the fires under his skin long quenched, dark and cold.

The guardian of Asgard, noble Heimdall, fair of face and keen of sight, met them at the gates of Valhalla. "Far have you traveled, strangers," said he. "I can see the many miles that have passed under your feet.  What business have you in the land of the Aesir?"

The demon stepped forward then. "I seek an audience with Thor, fair of face and golden of hair; mighty Thor, master of raging thunderstorms, chief among all warriors, tenacious on the hunt, beloved of Sif the fair."

"A pretty speech," noted Heimdall. "Yet I regret to inform you that Thor is away in the East, killing Jotun. You are welcome to partake of our hospitality until his return, however."

"We would be endlessly grateful," replied the smith, whose eyes drank greedily of the wonders about, that he hoped he might, with great practice, create in his own forge.

The hospitality of Valhalla was unstinting.  Warm baths, rich clothing, and food in plenty was all provided - great steaming racks of grass-fattened elk, root vegetables of divers colors succulently prepared, great tankards of beer and mead. Yet the demon could neither eat nor drink, as the knowledge that the end of his quest was nigh gnawed at him. Soon, yes, he could stand, and in front of the great host of Valhalla, tell the tale of his betrayed love.

"Look," the warrior cried, his hands on the shoulders of the smith and the demon, "there stands the lady Sif, the fairest in all of Valhalla."

At the sight of her, the demon was sore afflicted, for her beauty was so great that none could look away from her, the sun of her presence lighting the hall.

As she came to greet the new guests, the smith leaped to his feet with delight. "Lady Sif, never in all of my days have I seen gold that could compare to the beauty of your hair. I have traveled far and seen yellow gold in Briton and red gold in the dry desert lands. I have drawn gold threads so fine that they float on the air, but your hair, O Sif, puts any I have seen to shame." And all heard, and marveled at the smith's adoration of their fair lady's hair.

The demon, too, marked the beauty of her hair, and in his pain and weakness, contrived to deprive her of it. Would, perhaps, Thor love her less without it? And so, late that night, he stole into the Lady Sif's room and used his sly seax to cut the gold from her head, casting it into the fire to curl into ash.

When the Lady Sif woke the next morning, loud were her lamentations upon discovering that her golden hair was gone, that her scalp was as white and bald as an egg. Having heard the smith's admiration, the guards brought him to her presence.

"We have taken you in and shown you great kindness," she told the smith, "and this is how you repay our generosity?"

"Great lady," the smith protested, "it was not I! I swear upon the name of Christ the White, I did not take your hair."

"You have foresworn your gods," Sif told him. "I can hear the deceit that lies upon your tongue, and so, we will take it from you."

The guards took his tongue, then, throwing it into the same fire that had consumed her hair.  They then drove him, tongueless and in pain, from the halls of Valhalla. 

At this, the demon was sore ashamed. He prostrated himself in front of Sif and the newly returned Thor. "It was not the smith who cut Lady Sif's hair," he confessed, "but I. Great has been my hurt and rage at losing the love of Thor, and thought I to cool his ardor for the Lady Sif by taking the gold from her head."

"You have done her great wrong," quoth Thor, "and it falls, therefore, upon thee to make all things right again."

The demon agreed, and went he then to Nidavellir, to the forge of Eitri the dwarf.  "Good master Eitri," quoth he, "Sindre the lord of metal and fire, I have a boon to ask of thee.  The Lady Sif's hair I did strip from her, and now come I for hair from your forge, to replace what I took."

"I have gold and silver and diamonds in excess," replied the dwarf, "I even have the hair of a god. What can you offer me, demon, that I have not already?"

"My thanks," quoth the demon.

Eitri was delighted by the demon's boldness. "I will make hair of gold for you, to replace what you have taken from lady Sif. Yet as well as your thanks, I will take your smith as an apprentice.  I see his skill in your armor and your daggers.  I will hammer the mortality from him, and forge and quench him into a smith to rival the dwarves."

The demon had no choice but to agree.  Eitri made hair of gold for the demon to bring to Sif, and also a tongue of silver to replace the one that had been torn out.

"I have brought hair of gold to replace that which I took," the demon told the fair couple of Asgard, upon his return. "But judge me not so harshly. The cruel deed I did for want of Thor - just as he cruelly feigned affection for me, out of want for his fair lady."

Thor could see the truth of his words, and neither he nor Sif could hold tight to their anger. "Then come, spirit," quoth Thor, "haunt our castle, serve at our pleasure, and cease your homeless wandering."

The tales of gods do not always reach the ears of man unchanged. So who can say if the demon did indeed linger, bound to Valhalla for eternity by hopeless want? Who can say if the warrior haunted the forges of Nidavellir, driven thence by hopeless want?


End file.
